Inspired by Clemente Moore and Donkey Cartel
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the mall
Shoppers were hurrying, including the louse;
The ammo clips were filled with bullets with care,
In hopes that the other gang soon would be there;
The children were distracted by iPhones in their hands;
While visions of sugar-candy bombs danced in their heads;
And mamma on her iPad and I in my VR helmet,
Had just settled our brains for a long cyber sex,
When out In the food court there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my screen to see what was the matter.
Away to the Foot Locker I flew like a flash,
opened my camera and turned on the flash.
The glow of the LED lights of the ornaments above,
Gave a lustre of cheer to the people below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a guy with a handgun and blood on the floor,
With a hoodie so slick and rap tunes full of shit,
I knew in a moment he must be Donkey Cartel.
More rapid than eagles the unarmed security guards they came,
And he laughed, and shouted, and called them bad names:
“Now, Rent-a-cops ! now, Murderers! now racists and Thugs!
#blacklivesmatter and Obama will stop you, too!
To the top of the stairs! to the top of the mall! Now eager white shoppers run away all!”
As victims that before hurricane Katrina sat idly by,
When they meet with a threat, cry for more gun free zones and more cameras
So out to the parking lot exits they flew
With the bags full of jewelry, and Star Wars action figures too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the floor
The shoes of an off duty policeman running with care
As Donkey Cartel drew up the gun, and was turning around,
The rapper star’s head exploded as he was hit with a round.
He was dressed all in fake gold, from his head to his Adidas,
And his clothes were all soiled with blood And his feces
A hoodie he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a burglar just prying opening the door.
His eyes—how they just stared! his dimples, how droopy!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was sagging below,
And the shine on his Ruger was as white as his crack;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a tight noose;
He had a broad face and a little round abs
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of chronic
He was thin and gaunt, a right sorry young punk,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A blink of his eye and a twisting of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but will go straight to the morgue,
And writhing in his agony; he turned with a jerk,
And ponting his middle finger up in the air
And giving a nod, up to rapper heaven he rose;
He sprang to his ride, to his gang gave a whistle,
And away my YouTube video uploaded to the cloud in a flash.
But I heard him moan, ere he ended his short life,
“Black Lives matter, allah akbar, and to all da bitches I slapped, a good night!”